


Shovels, Spiders, and Corn, Louie Duck’s Recipe For Disaster!

by ReesieReads



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Louie Duck, Background Beagle Boys, Background Launchpad McQuack, Background Scrooge McDuck, Emotional Hurt, Episode: s02e20 The Golden Armory of Cornelius Coot!, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Louie Duck, Louie Duck Needs a Hug, Louie Duck-centric, Louie Duck’s Hurt Spleen, Older Sibling Huey Duck, Parent Della Duck, Parent Donald Duck, Physical hurt, Spiders, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27933187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReesieReads/pseuds/ReesieReads
Summary: In ‘The Golden Armory of Cornelius Coot!’ Louie gets hit in the stomach with a shovel. What happens as Louie pushes past the horrible pain in his stomach and ignores all the warning signs?
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Donald Duck & Louie Duck
Comments: 10
Kudos: 194





	Shovels, Spiders, and Corn, Louie Duck’s Recipe For Disaster!

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven’t watched the episode I highly recommend you do so before reading this.

The pain was instant.

Crumbling to the ground, Louie desperately clutched his stomach. Pain was blooming hot and overwhelming where the shovel had hit him, and it took everything in him to not start crying.

If his Uncle Donald were here Louie would have been whisked to the Hospital in an instant, dozens of nurses and doctors poking and prodding at him. But the older duck  _ wasn’t  _ there, and Louie wasn’t about to go and ruin Webby’s big adventure over nothing.

Plus, a hospital visit would be expensive, and Louie wasn’t worth that kind of money. 

Dewey offered him a hand, and Louie took it, his vision momentarily going white as he stood. Sucking in sharply through his nose, he gave them his best smile, the one he always used when manipulating people.

The others seemed to buy it  _ (‘of course they did, I’m always getting hurt, this is normal’)  _ and everyone began to follow Webby back to the old statue of Coot. The cup of churned milk butter shook in Louie’s harsh grip, threatening to spill over the sides.

Huey dragged a wooden sign with the words  _ ‘Historians at Work!’  _ painted on it in sloppy black letters. Whilst Webby began to flip through Della’s journal, and Dewey dragged the shovel (if Louie could he would pitch the stupid thing into a flaming garbage can) over to find a place to dig.

All Louie did was stand next to the statue, using his feet to prop himself up (although he’d much rather be sitting down and clutching his stomach) as he pretended to drink the disgusting butter. Since he was already known for being lazy and unhelpful no one questioned it, and for the first time Louie was thankful for the reputation. He didn’t think he could lift anything right now as it was.

Then Dewey hit him with the shovel,  _ again. _

Luckily it was only his hand this time, and it wasn’t nearly as hard as the first hit, but Louie wasn’t exactly  _ thankful  _ for yet another soon-to-be bruise. Rubbing his knuckles in annoyance, he watched as the metal cup clattered to the ground and the disgusting buttermilk seeped into the (fake) golden plaque of the statue.

“Oh no, my delicious, gloppy, history treat.” Louie snarked, the sarcasm rolling off his tongue with practiced ease.

Webby shushed him, creeping forward with a quiet  _ “listen.” _

The sound of something faintly dripping, like a water droplet from a faucet could be heard. Louie followed the others hesitantly as they hurried over to the plaque, already preparing himself mentally for whatever adventure they were inevitably going to be faced with, and as such, whatever pain he was going to be inevitably hurt with.

“There’s something under here!” Huey exclaimed, starting to push away the buttermilk.

Webby bounced slightly, “truth beneath the legend!”

Louie was having trouble focusing on much of anything however, the pain radiating from his left side threatening to overtake his senses entirely. It was blinding, leaving him nearly breathless, and Louie found nearly a dozen curses coming to mind about his current predicament.

_ ‘You can’t say anything,’  _ he reminded himself, hands shaking in his pockets,  _ ‘you can’t ruin this for everyone else because you're an overdramatic baby.’ _

So, Louie kept his beak shut, slowly following the others down into the dark cavern of Cornilus Coot’s Armory.

-

Louie was  _ really  _ starting to hate shovels.

Not only had he been hit by them  _ twice,  _ but he was also robbed of the hope of gold (though he was far more upset about the first point then the second). He really wouldn’t be surprised if this trip ended with him having yet  _ another  _ phobia to add to his ever-growing list.

Again, he was tempted to speak up about the horrible pain that had now spread into his left arm as well.

Webby seemed so enthusiastic though, and Louie was starting to feel a bit guilty for all of his dry snark. She didn’t  _ seem  _ bothered by the cynicism, but Louie knew all too well how easy it was to hide when someone hurt your feelings.

So yet again, he shut his trap.

-

The fall did  _ wonders  _ for his stomach.

As he landed on the rock, a tremor raced up his body from the impact, the pain spiking sharply. Louie could feel the threats of throwing up churning in his stomach, but he ignored it for favor of looking around. 

The cavern was dark, and he could feel a chill run up his spine at the realization that he couldn’t  _ see.  _ He could feel the other’s moving though, brushing up against him, and the reminder he wasn’t alone was surprisingly comforting.

That didn’t mean the anxiety went away completely though.

“Just  _ relax  _ Louie,” he muttered to himself, “just think of all the stuff you're going to buy with the treasure, okay, an Empire Brother’s ottoman, a case of important Pep superior, an emerald study hoodie…”

Hugging his knees to his chest (his stomach didn’t appreciate this either, but Louie was starting to grow numb to the pain) and rocked, trying and failing to comfort himself. He could hear Dewey laugh from somewhere to his right, and while Louie wasn’t exactly surprised, the action still  _ hurt. _

“Do  _ not  _ laugh in the face of my danger!” Louie snapped, trying desperately not to snap  _ too  _ badly. Unfortunately, he was teetering dangerously close to his breaking point, overwhelmed in a way he hadn’t been since Doofus Drake’s birthday party.

“I’m not!” Dewey insisted, though Louie couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or not in between all the laughing, “Huey’s tickling me!”

“No I’m not?”

“Yes you-“ the Middle sibling hesitated, “Webby turn your phone light on!”

“It  _ is  _ on?”

“Well I can’t see a thing.”

“What?... Oh dear.”

Louie was suddenly very,  _ very,  _ not okay.

As Webby turned her flashlight onto Dewey, a white hot panic filled the youngest triplet. Because resting on Dewey’s eyes were two hairy, and very large  _ tarantulas. _

Huey let out a scream, flinging back into Louie and sending them both tumbling back onto the ground. Letting out a yell of his own, the youngest triplet froze up, knowing nothing except the fear gripping at his chest.

The spiders attacked him mercilessly, crawling into his pockets and inside his hoodie, sliding over feathers with ease to gain access to his eyes and beak. He could even feel them running over his chest and stomach, moving small downy feathers to reach the skin underneath.

If he weren’t so afraid and jacked up on adrenaline, he would have likely collapsed from the pain his stomach was now exuding. 

“Help me,” he whispered hoarsely to no one in particular, arms out at his sides as if that would help him escape the terrors crawling all over his body.

Trying urgently to fling them away, Louie realized that he was screaming, loud yells echoing with his sibling’s across the cavern. Every spider in the vicinity must have heard them by now, and his chest clamped at the thought of any more creepy crawlers touching him.

_ ‘God I just want to go home.’ _

-

Louie was, decidedly,  _ done. _

Unfortunately, Webby didn’t seem to know when to quit, just as excited as ever as she flipped around the cavern walls. He didn’t understand how she could be so… careless about the whole thing, because while  _ she  _ hadn’t been attacked by ruthless spiders she could at  _ least  _ see how upset he was.

Maybe she just didn’t think his feelings were important enough.

_ Maybe  _ if Huey or Dewey were just as disturbed as he was, she would call this whole crazy mission to a halt. They would get to go home, where there  _ weren’t  _ any tarantulas, and Louie could finally throw up since that’s what his stomach seemed to want.

Just because she didn’t listen to him didn’t mean he wouldn’t complain though, letting out small whimpers while he clutched his stomach, “s-so many legs! Everywhere!  _ I want to go home!” _

He pulled up his hoodie, like he usually did when he was upset, only to freeze as small, plump figures hit the top of his head. They crawled quickly out of the cotton, over his face and body, scuttling away over the floor. Louie let out a loud whine, thankful as Dewey helped him shake away the offending creatures.

Louie was going to  _ murder  _ someone of the universe didn’t kill him first.

“Is it me,” he asked his brothers carefully, watching as Webby crawled across the floor, “or does she seem a little more…  _ Webby  _ then usual?”

“Yeah,” Dewey agreed, nodding warily, “this is starting to feel less like a fun adventure thing and more like a-“

“Dangerous obsession that kills us all, thing?” Huey asked.

Louie felt a wave of relief wash over him to see his brothers coming to reason. He knew Webby would probably never listen to  _ him,  _ but she would have to listen to Huey and Dewey. Either way, Louie won (even If the fact that Webby didn’t care enough about his own feelings still stung).

“Maybe we should head back…” Huey said, seeming unsure.

Dewey nodded, “yeah, this adventure’s a bust.”

Louie doubted Webby would see it that way.

-

She definitely did  _ not  _ see it that way, if her perfect manipulation of Dewey was anything to go off of.

Maybe it was his fault for teaching her so well

Either way, it didn’t really matter in the end. Not when Bigtime (also known as: Idiot Beagle) came rushing past them covered in spider webs. The dog cried out in fear, running blindly before tumbling into one of the mine carts and being sent racing down the track.

“Bigtime?” Webby asked, sounding only mildly surprised, “the Beagle’s are after the treasure again! Quit repeating yourself History, you rascal!”

Accepting his fate, Louie quickly made his way to the second mine cart, allowing Webby to shoot him up into the wooden contraption. He thinks faintly that his stomach should  _ probably  _ hurt from the landing, but brushes it off simply as the hit’s effects finally going away.

_ ‘See,’  _ he thought to himself,  _ ‘you were overreacting again, as usual.’ _

Webby hit the lever to send them flying down the rail, quickly jumping in before they gained too much speed. Louie held on tightly to the side, feeling his heart pound heavily in his chest.

Then, slowly, the cart rocks to a stop.

_ ‘Wow,’  _ he can’t help but think, looking up at the tall hill of track in front of them,  _ ‘whoever designed this must have been an idiot.’ _

Despite them no longer being in danger, Louie’s heart refused to slow.

-

Louie, at some point during the dull ‘chase’ had decided to simply walk ahead.

Huey was already consumed in his guidebook, and Dewey and Webby were busy pushing the mine cart, so there really wasn’t anything better for him to do besides kick pebbles.

Except, apparently, the Universe hated him and wouldn’t even let him do that.

Over time his vision had begun to blur, and he started to feel a bit like he was floating rather than walking in a cold, dusty mine. At some point Louie couldn’t seem to kick the pebble, always off by just a bit but never being able to correct himself as his vision blurred in front of him.

_ ‘This,’  _ he thinks,  _ ‘is probably a bad thing.’ _

And if he wanted, Louie could tell Huey, and the oldest triplet would have them all out of the awful cavern in no time. But now that the Beagle Boys had made their presence known, things had changed. None of the adults knew they were down there, and if Louie forced them all to leave now then the dumb dogs would get all of Coot’s old treasure.

Louie didn’t want everyone mad at him for making them lose to the Beagles.

So he stayed quiet.

-

When Louie woke up, he was horribly disappointed.

“Man, are we still here?” He muttered, “I had this amazing dream that we  _ weren’t.” _

Huey nodded, looking around them with half-lidded eyes, “where’s Bigtime?”

Webby shrugged, pointing to the tunnel behind them, “he must have gotten caught in that spider-infested tunnel.”

Louie shivered, ignoring the phantom feelings of tiny black legs crawling across his feathers, “why are there so many spider tunnels?”

Webby ignored him, walking over to the wall where a rusty scythe was nailed, “Huey look, what is this? A relic? One of Coot’s old weapons? Proof of the legendary myths?”

“An old rusty scythe?” The oldest triplet asked flatly.

“Or,” Webby exclaimed, pointing in front of them, “a marker pointing this way!”

The duckling looked down as her phone’s flashlight began to flicker, seeing a dead battery screen flash on the screen momentarily before they were all plunged into darkness. 

Louie flinched as the light suddenly died, pressing closer to Huey’s side. It wasn’t like the lack of light made much of a difference, seeing as his vision was blurry already, but he didn’t like not being able to see everything around him.

“Guys,” Webby said, walking back over to the mine cart, “we’re almost to where your Mom’s entries end! A few more steps and we’ll have made it further than anyone! If we solve this, we can be as incredible as she-er-Coot was!”

Turning, Louie was glad to faintly see his brother’s looks of apprehension. As much as he  _ loved  _ adventures, the duckling was ready to just go home and pass out for a couple hours. Maybe he wouldn’t be so light-headed if he could just get a good nap in his  _ bed.  _

Dewey took the bite, “listen, Webby, I don’t think we should-“

“Perfect!” The duckling exclaimed, steamrolling over Dewey’s attempt to dissuade her, “don’t think! Let’s go!”

“Webby!”

_ “No!” _

“Don’t!”

Webby came to a halt, and for a brief moment Louie almost believed she was listening to them. But then he followed her line of sight, seeing wobbly words carved into a wooden sign.

“Cornelius Coot Arms,” Webby said, a hint of wonder in her voice, “this is it! The golden armory!”

Suddenly, Louie was reminded of what Webby had promised him at the very beginning of this whole cruddy adventure, and his fears were momentarily forgotten, “treasure!”

“Adventure!” Dewey said with excitement!

“Historical accuracy!” Huey chipped in, ignoring Dewey and Louie’s looks of annoyance.

The little group hurried forward, now filled with excitement at the chance to discover something new. The horrors they had gone through weren’t far from Louie’s mind though, and he just knew nightmares would be waiting for him the next time he went to sleep.

Huey lit a match, lighting an old candle that had been sitting on a box of cargo. Louie was immensely relieved to be able to see again (extremely blurry vision aside), and even happier still at the sight of a huge heap of yellow before him that could only be gold.

Pushing his way past everyone else, Louie leaped into the gold… only to be scratched and mangled as he delved in. Usually, when he swam in money, the coins would slip past his feathers with ease, not shred the skin underneath.

Popping back up, he was quick to spit out the buttery substance that had somehow found it way into his mouth. the duckling’s eyes widened with mounting horror as he grabbed one of the cylindrical shapes in front of him.

“Corn?”

“What?” Webby asked, racing over to pick through the pile herself, “no, no, no, no,  _ no,  _ maybe the treasure is beneath the corn! Or ah-maybe there’s a further riddle and you have to find the gold inside the corn! Or-“

“It’s a blueprint.”

Louie turned to face his brother, seeing a frantic Webby still searching desperately out of the corner of his eye. A wave of guilt came over him for being so irritated with her before, and Louie cursed himself for being so blind to her obvious desperation.

“Coot’s very own system for storing corn,” Huey explained further, turning the book in his hands to face the rest of the group, “those weren’t minecarts, they were corn carts. And those markers we found along the way were just farm tools.”

“So Coot was just a boring, not-adventuring, farmer?” Dewey asked, sounding annoyed as he came to stand next to Huey.

“And his treasure was dirty, smelly, corn?” Louie asked, unable to hide his utter disappointment, “worst treasure hunt ever!”

Kicking a piece of corn to the side, Louie walking back the way they came. In any other circumstance he probably would have been kinder, and actually taken the time to help Webby, but he had been put through too much to even care anymore. Getting hit with a shovel twice, and then literally covered in spiders, was  _ not  _ worth some glorified corn.

“Sorry Webby,” he heard Huey say from behind, “it’s over, let’s go home.”

-

“The treasure’s corn, it’s in there, knock yourself out.”

Louie was  _ exhausted,  _ and quite frankly, a little peeved that Webby wouldn’t just let them go home. He hadn’t wanted to be a part of this ‘grand adventure’ in the first place, and had literally been traumatized as he suffered through, only to find out that it had all been for  _ corn.  _ Not only that, but now the Beagle Boys had captured them, for  _ corn. _

It was official, Louie Duck now  _ hated  _ corn.

-

Launchpad and Della crashing into their  _ exact  _ location was only the fifth weirdest thing to happen to Louie all day.

Luckily, it was the only one on his list that hadn’t ended with him getting hurt, traumatized, or disappointed. As Della wrangled the beagles up easily, tossing them to the side like garbage, Louie felt all of us worries wash away.

All three triplet’s rushed to their mother, chattering over each other about how incredible she was.

They didn’t even notice Webby slipping away.

“I thought you guys were at the fort?” Della asked, hands on her hips.

“Webby led us down here she-“ Louie cut himself off, looking behind him and feeling that crushing guilt come back ten-fold, “where is she?”

“You guys stay here, I’ll find her,” Della promised, racing off to find the lost fourth Duck sibling.

“We are  _ never  _ going to get out of here,” he complained, feeling the exhaustion creeping back into his bones.

“You got that right.”

_ ‘Oh give me a break!’ _

-

The rest of the day passed in a blur.

After defeating the Beagle’s and finding out the truth about Coot’s army, everyone  _ (not  _ including Louie) had voted to go back to the town and hang out for the remainder of the day. Louie spent the time selling popcorn, figuring that he may as well get  _ some  _ money out the whole thing.

Then, as the sun began to set into the horizon and paint the sky in bright golden hues, everyone packed back into the plane. The front was smashed and dented, but no one seemed fazed at the sight.

It was only when they started flying that the pain finally hit him.

The last of his adrenaline draining away, a sharp pain burst in his gut suddenly, causing his vision to white and his knees to buckle. Louie was pretty sure he heard someone call his name, but it was hard to hear anything but the roar of his too-fast heartbeat in his ears.

It  _ hurt,  _ it hurt worse than anything Louie had ever felt in his life, and it was only made worse as his stomach heaved forward. The taste of foul buttermilk filled his mouth as he threw up, making his eyes fill with even more tears.

He just wanted to  _ go home. _

-

When Louie woke up, it was in a hospital.

He could hear the beeping of a heart monitor racing behind him, and the loud snoring coming from somewhere in the room. His legs itched under the hospital gown he had apparently been put into, and Louie wondered briefly what had happened to his precious hoodie.

“Lou?”  _ Uncle Donald,  _ “Lou, can you open your eyes please?”

Struggling against his exhaustion, Louie managed to peel his eyes open. In front of him sat a disheveled Donald, feathers sticking out in odd places and dark circles resting underneath his eyes. Della slept beside him, looking somehow  _ worse  _ with her hair pulled back into a messy bun and red tear tracks racing down her cheeks.

“Wha’ happened?” He mumbled, trying to think back to whatever he had been doing before now. All he could remember was  _ popcorn,  _ and for some reason Louie doubted that had anything to do with him being in the Hospital of all places.

“You ruptured your spleen,” Donald said carefully, “something about blunt force trauma to the stomach?”

“I don’ rem’ber anything,” Louie said, eyebrows furrowing.

Donald crumbled, face seeming downcast as he said, “you're on a  _ lot  _ of medications right now, they're about to roll you in for emergency surgery.”

_ ‘Surgery? They're going to cut into me?’ _

His Uncle must have sensed his growing panic (or perhaps he just heard the heart monitor quicken), and grabbed Louie’s hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “They’re going to… help fix it okay? And you won’t be awake for any of it. I promise you won’t feel a thing.”

Louie had a feeling his Uncle wasn’t telling him everything, but he decided he didn’t even  _ want  _ to know.

“Are you going to be there?”

Donald sighed, looking twice his age as he looked down at the IV stabbed into Louie’s hand (that the duckling was determined to ignore), “I can’t stay in there with you while they operate, but I  _ promise  _ both me and your Mom will be just outside the room waiting for you.”

Taking a moment to absorb the fact that he would be going into surgery  _ alone,  _ Louie very suddenly missed his siblings, “where are Huey, Dewey, and Webby?”

_ ‘Do they really care that little?’ _

“We didn’t think it was a good idea to bring them to the hospital before the surgery,” Donald said, “so Launchpad took them back to the Manor for Scrooge to watch them. They’ll be here when you wake up though, okay?”

Not seeing another choice, Louie nodded, “okay.”

“I love you Lou.”

“Love you to Unca’ Donald.”

-

Just as promised, Louie woke up perfectly fine.

Well, as fine as anyone could be in a Hospital anyway. He was laying down in another bed, the room around him so bland and white that it physically hurt to look at. So instead he focused on the people around his bed, all sitting in crappy, old, white hospital chairs.

Donald and Della sat to his left, leaning against each other as they slept. The two ducks looked  _ awful,  _ and Louie couldn’t even find it in him to be disappointed that they were asleep. It seemed like they needed the rest more than even he did.

Scrooge (to Louie’s surprise) sat next to the twin’s, looking quite disheveled himself. There was no sign of the elder’s cane or top hat, and his bright red coat was buttoned one lower than it was supposed to be. Louie’s heart warmed slightly at the thought that the old grouch actually cared about him.

_ ‘You don’t deserve it,’  _ his mind hissed,  _ ‘you don’t deserve any of this. Can you imagine how expensive surgery is? You're going to put Uncle Donald in even more debt, and he’s never going to be able to make it up. How could you be so selfish?’ _

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that Louie completely missed the three small figures sitting to his right that were all staring at him intently. 

“Lou?”

Jumping, the duckling turned sharply to face his siblings. To his surprise, Webby was openly sobbing, clinging to Huey’s shirt as she choked down small cry’s. Dewey was crying as well, albeit silently, and he looked immensely relieved to see the youngest triplet awake. Even Huey’s eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks at any moment.

“Aw jeez,” Louie teased, attempting to lighten the mood, “did you guys really miss me that much?”

The three ducklings nodded immediately, and Webby’s lip wobbled as she said, “Louie, I’m  _ so, so, so,  _ sorry.”

_ ‘Oh right,’  _ he thought, the events of the day coming back to him suddenly,  _ ‘the shovel.’ _

“Don’t worry about it Webs,” he insisted, leaning forward slightly (ignoring the ache in his upper stomach as he did so) to wipe away a few of the stray tears rolling down her cheeks, “it’s not your fault. I should have said something as soon as it started hurting.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because Webby flinched violently against his hands, looking at him with a sort of horror Louie hadn’t been anticipating. “It hurt  _ before?”  _ She whispered.

“Well I mean-“

“How long Louie,” she demanded, face becoming harsh for a moment before softening.

“I…”

_ “Lou, please.” _

“...since the shovel hit me in the first place.”

Webby sucks in a sharp breath, and Huey finally crumbles, letting hot tears run down his face. “Why didn’t you  _ say  _ anything?” The oldest triplet asked, voice wavering as he did so.

“I…” Louie pauses, “it wasn’t  _ that  _ serious.”

“Are you  _ kidding  _ me?” Huey snarled, though Louie knew he was more angry at himself then Louie.

“It’s not a big deal, I didn’t think it-

“Louie,” Dewey cut in, voice sharp and hurt, “you almost  _ died.” _

The sentence seemed to steal Louie’s breath away, leaving him floundering for a way to brush it off. But how do you brush off almost  _ dying?  _ There wasn’t anything he could possibly say, and that fact almost hurt more than seeing his siblings break down in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, settling for an apology, “it was irresponsible and I shouldn’t have-“

“Your a  _ fucking  _ idiot sometimes,” Huey growled, gently pulling Louie into a hug, careful to avoid his bandaged torso, “we  _ love  _ you okay? And you have absolutely  _ nothing  _ to apologize for.”

Dewey and Webby were quick to join the hug as well, and later, if Donald woke up to find four kids sleeping in a big pile with tear tracks on their cheeks, he said nothing of it.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
